(( With the busy holiday season, I've had virtually no time to play WoW. However, some spare time at my parent's house yielded this story about a troll hunter I started just to use as a spare bank. I think however, based on the fun I had writing this, he'll be my true alt once I hit 70.))
It all started with a sneeze. Groggyin this early hour, dawn's light just beginning to penetrate the dimshack, Gboda decided it was his own, and rolled over. Anothersneeze. His sleep addled brain paused a moment, checking in with therest of his body to confirm the ownership of the sound. His eyesblinked open as his brain came to the consensus that the sound didn'tbelong to him. Even in the dim light his eyes had no problemsdetermining that there was no one else in the room with him, so wheredid the sound come from? His long ears twitched as they sortedthrough the usual noise of the surrounding forest, finding theshuffling of several pairs of feet outside his hut.
He reached below his low cot, graspinghis old bow and rolling out of the bed, crouching silently in themiddle of the dusty room. Muffled voices penetrated the walls of hisaging shack. He relaxed slightly, they weren't troll voices, or thevoices of men. Curious he made the trip from his bed to the door injust a pair of long strides and cracked open the door. He'd seen afew curious sights in his long long life, but this just wasn't whathe was expecting.
Standing no more than a dozen feet fromthe entrance of his shack, stood a handful of goblins, furiouslydebating among themselves. One of them held a handkerchief to hisnose, and let out a blistering sneeze. They were oblivious for themoment, arguing, incredulously, about whether they should strip downthe old shack for materials, or just burn it to the ground. Gbodaraised himself to his full height and stepped out of the shack,ensuring the swinging door cracked loudly enough to grab the goblin'sattention.
“Ju gonna do no such ting. Dis placebe occupied!” The goblins all turned to look at him in surprise,obviously not expecting anyone to be living in the run down oldshack. They all looked at each other for a moment, before the onewith the handkerchief stepped forward, the others crowding in closebehind him.
“Not anymore. You gotta get out,this is Venture Co. land. You can't squat on it. Trespassing isn'tallowed!” said the goblin, brandishing his handkerchief like asword.
“What ju mean tresspassin? Gbodadone live here fer ages outa mind. Ju don't tell me ta get out. Gboda tell ju ta get out.” The goblins looked at each other againas the old troll stepped forward into the sunlight. At first theythought they were looking at a ghost. The tall lanky troll's skinhad faded over the many years almost white, just a pale hint of itsoriginal green persisting, his straggly hair just as ivory as histusks.
“We.... we got the permits..”offered up one of the nervous goblins. Gboda closed the distance tothe goblins in seconds, crouching down to get right into their facesas they shrunk back from him.
“Dis be Gboda's land, an ain't no'permits' gonna say otherwise. He been ere since before da elves anda humans, an da orcs ever laid eyes on deese forests. Ain't beensince da ancient Zandalar done cast him out did Gboda listen taanyone. Ju want to be here so much, I bury ju here.” Gboda stoodand looked down upon the goblins triumphantly.
“You can't threaten us!” cried oneof the goblins, stabbing his finger repeatedly upon a small remote hehad be nervously fingering since they noticed the hut. A crash inthe forest drew Gboda's eyes upwards as a pair of shredders brokeinto the little clearing. He jumped back as the emboldened goblinsdrew swords and daggers, confident now with mechanical backup ontheir side.
It had been a couple centuries sincethe old troll had used his bow for anything other than hunting hisdiner, but he hadn't survived this long without having a few tricksup his sleeve. The arrow splintered into three parts as it left hisbow, each burying itself deeply in goblin hide, a surprised deathsqueal erupting from each of the unfortunate recipients. A pair ofthe goblins were quite spry and raced towards, coming too quickly toload another arrow.
The bow was nearly as old as the troll,but its old wood was as strong as the earth beneath them as itcontacted the skull of one of the goblins, sending him crashing tothe ground. The other shrieked triumphantly as his sword pierced thetrolls arm, sending a spray of blood across them both. However, amoment later, Gboda learned that if he crouched, a goblin's head wasthe perfect height for his axe, which promptly removed it from thetroublesome shoulders it had been attached too.
A shredder's circular saw bit theground where the old troll had been just a moment before, and Gbodacame to the conclusion that the machines might best be dealt withfrom a distance. Some might call it a strategic retreat; Gbodaconsidered it putting some healthy distance between them, but eitherway, he ran. Not far mind you, as he wheeled about and sent an arrowinto the skull of one of the shredder pilots. The great machinetoppled over, saws still turning and ripping into the earth.
The other pilot was much more aware,and knocked away the next arrow as a person swats a fly. And thenext, and the next, all the while coming closer. Gboda thought fast,darting behind his raggedy shack, buying himself a moment where theshredder's pilot couldn't see him. His ear cocked a moment before hethrew himself flat to the ground as the shredder ripped through theshack, sending splinters everywhere, quite a few painfully into theold troll's backside.
He lay there, buried in the rubble asthe shredder pilot surveyed the destruction with a smile. That smileturned to dread as he felt a bite on his leg, looking down to find aswarm of venomous snakes flooding into his machine. This time, Gbodasmiled as the shredder toppled over, the pilot's screams of agonyovercoming the loud roar of the saw blades.
After spending several tens of minutesremoving splinters from his hide, the old troll looked over hisruined home and the bodies of the dead goblins. If there was onething he knew about goblins, for every one that you saw, there were adozen others waiting to cut off his gold purse and continue on withsome new scheme that you didn't.
Gboda hadn't seen the world outside hislittle patch of forest in quite some time, but considering therewould likely be more goblins out for his head after this, maybe goingfor a long walk wasn't a bad idea. He strapped what he couldsalvage to his back and headed in the direction of he last remembereda road being. Maybe he'd see if he could get back to Zandalar. Maybe he'd try visiting the Amani. Maybe, just maybe, he could finda good recipe for goblin.